


all bets are off

by clayisforgirls



Series: all bets are off [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Marat's hot, everyone knows that and he's snuck a few peeks in the locker room, more than a few if he's being honest"</p><p>Takes place after a then-hypothetical first match between the pair. Originally posted in March 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all bets are off

Getting the first big win of your career isn't what it's cracked up to be.

Mardy's been through it before, beating Moya, but they're treating it like it's the first time all over again, as though he hasn't been ranked 17 in the world before. As through he's climbing his way up the rankings for the first time. He knows the expectation that follows, how much pressure the American media will start to put on him now he's back in the top 100, but this time, it's not as scary. Not with Andy and James in the top 10, with Robby still ranked higher than him and Andre too.

Some things might be the same, but there are always the variables to think about.

It's not Moya this time, it's Marat Safin. And he's not coming from years of challengers; he's coming from a year where he's had two wrist surgeries. He's not looking for his first major win, he's just looking to get back up there, where he know he belongs. With the other Americans. Probably not with Andy, but not ranked 100 either.

And now he's beaten Safin. Honestly, he's more than aware the sometimes crazy Russian beat himself, talking to himself, three racquets smashed by the end of the match and he'd even grinned when Marat had accidentally broken the net by hurling the third at it. On a good day, Safin would have kicked his ass, he knows that, but it doesn't take the win away from him.

Well, maybe a tiny bit.

Today he'd seemed very off, more than a little distracted and Mardy had just used that to his advantage. Like Andy had told him to before the match, and he wonders if Andy had known more than he'd let on, giving tips over games of poker last night in his hotel room, stopping him in the corridor that morning and telling him to kick ass out there.

He'd done that, exceptionally well. He'd hoped for a result like this but never quite thought it would happen, and now, he gets to relax tonight, because there's no match tomorrow, he gets to hang out with Andy and James at Andy's new favourite bar in New York.

First, he's doing his favourite thing after a win – taking a long, hot shower in the locker room, and this time, there's no one around. Not even Marat, but he doesn't think too much about where the Russian has gotten too. Probably destroying a couple more racquets. Warm water soothes his aching muscles and he leans against the side of the shower stall, letting it wash over him as his eyes drift shut.

He doesn't notice when Marat enters the showers, doesn't notice the wicked grin on his face, doesn't even notice as the Russian gets down on his knees. It's not until one hand rests on his hip and the other is around the base of his dick that he opens his eyes, too shocked to speak because Marat Safin is on his knees in front of him. And just like that his eyes flutter shut again, tongue sweeping down the inside of his thigh and back up again, drawing circles on his hip, until that mouth is around his cock.

And he's seen Marat suck other guys off in the showers before, but mostly it's Marat getting the blowjobs, blush staining his cheeks when he's looked for too long and Marat's eyes have caught his own. He knows Marat doesn't do this often, it's not his style, and he wonders why he's getting one now, because he just beat the guy. Solidly. It doesn't make sense, but he's not about to question it, not when Marat's tongue is rubbing across the underside of his dick, not when it's this good.

Even though the thought of someone catching them is making him blush, he's not going to push Marat away.

Fingers twine in wet curls, lightly tugging as Marat sucks harder, biting his lips because he's not going to moan, not here, not where anyone could see them but he breaks that resolution as Marat's hand snakes around his back, fingers pressing at his ass, thumb stroking his balls. It's not quite a moan, bitten back before it's too loud, too long, but he can feel Marat grin around his cock, can imagine that perfect smirk on his lips.

And whoa, when did anything about the Russian become perfect? They don't even know each other, barely exchanged twenty words before this and fuck, he's getting a blowjob from someone he doesn't even know. This Andy would laugh at, he'd tease him about Mardy finally realising how much fun a random blowjob in the showers could be, a quickie behind closed doors but that's not him, it's never been him.

So the question begs why now, why didn't he push Marat away when he could have? It's not as though he hasn't had offers, aware half the guys on tour think he's cute enough to fuck and yet he's never gone for any of them. Marat's hot, everyone knows that and he's snuck a few peeks in the locker room, more than a few if he's being honest. Which he might as well be, because he's currently being sucked off by the guy he's taken more than a few peeks at in the locker room. And the showers.

Except, as he's coming in Marat's mouth, he doesn't really care why he's doing this because it's good, Marat has the most talented mouth he's ever experienced, hands clenching in hair, head knocking against hard tiles as he moans, not able to keep it back this time. Marat holds him up afterwards, hands resting gently on his hips, legs suddenly boneless and that's never happened before, not ever, and he looks at Marat carefully through half-lidded eyes, watching him as the Russian gets up, trailing kisses up his chest and as he asks why he gets a real kiss, though just a brush of one at first.

He doesn't ask again, just closes his eyes, leaning back against the tiles and there's just one last kiss, tongue tangling, before Marat's gone and he's alone.

When he walks back into the locker room, there's no sign the Russian was even there but doesn't think about it too much, just dresses – fast – and walks to his press conference alone, just wanting it to be over with already. Before he even walks in he's mentally preparing himself for the questions he knows he'll be asked. And has been asked before.

It's too long for his liking, wanting to be curled up in bed right now because the exhaustion is starting to hit. He hasn't played like that for a long time and he's forgotten just how tiring it is but there's a promise he made, a promise to Andy and instead of going back to his hotel room, he heads straight for the bar, because once he sees his bed he knows he'll just climb right in it.

Instead he hands his bags off to his coach, and heads towards the bar.

Leather jacket covers the faded t-shirt, ripped jeans complete the outfit along with his sneakers and really, he's not dressed appropriately for this but he doesn't care, determined to make an appearance for an hour before he claims exhaustion, Andy and James far more used to the big matches. He's just out of practise, mentally tired as well as physically, just wanting to sleep.

And if he's lucky, it'll be a long sleep, an uninterrupted sleep until his coach calls him tomorrow morning and he'll curse down the phone because he's overslept.

Wallet out before the cab's even stopped, cash in hand as he steps out into the warm New York evening, he pays the driver, gone before he can even think about taking the change because he just wants to get home, and the faster he's at the bar, the faster he can sleep. Though, as he steps into the bar, he can see why Andy likes it, and spots him almost immediately, sitting by himself in the corner, one drink already in hand as he plays with his phone, two others sitting on the table in front of him.

Beer, and okay, maybe he doesn't want to go home just yet, because beer sounds good right now, beer and hanging out with Andy and James for a while.

All he gets from Andy is a nod and one of the opened bottles pushed towards him as he sits. There hasn't been a need for words between them for a long time and it's a comfortable silence, and if they were in a different setting it could be one of the evenings they spent together in their teens, hanging out with beer and pizza and movies. Sometimes he'd love to go back there, no pressure to perform, just living with his best friend.

Sometimes he'd love to do that now with Andy, but neither are the same people they were. They've drifted apart a little, still friends but not as close as they once were, and he knows that partly it's his fault but partly it's because Andy's that much better than him, reaching finals when he'd lost rounds earlier and was already at the next stop on the tour. Except there are days like this when everything feels like it was all those years ago, and really, he'd love more evenings like this. Just him and Andy and beer.

"James should be here soon," Andy says, after a few minutes have passed. "He's claiming traffic, but..."

"But really he's just vain," he jokes, and it gets a grin from Andy, almost too rare from him recently.

"Thanks for winning today, Fishie."

Confusion sets in, because thanking him for winning doesn't make sense, not unless-

Unless Andy had made a bet and suddenly it makes a little more sense, why Andy had been so confident in him; he'd been hoping it had rubbed off and luckily for him, it had. Who he made the bet with though is a mystery, maybe Marat but even he doesn't think the Russian would be that dumb, not over his own match. Though it might explain why he'd been so distracted, why he'd been shouting at himself and Mardy wonders exactly what Andy bet.

"What did you bet Marat, Andy?" he asks, hoping he's right in his assumptions, and thankfully, he is, Andy smirking behind his beer.

"A blowjob. He said he was gonna swing by here later."

Mardy can't help but grin, so like Andy to always be thinking about sex, always has done even when they were back in school. He'd offered to fuck Mardy a few times but it hadn't happened, nothing ever had and there's always been a thought of what if, but it's always pushed away again the moment he sees Andy with some other guy from the tour.

A cell phone beeps, and he checks his own but it's Andy's and he watches him opens the message, reading it through before saying that James isn't going to be able to make it, so it's just the pair of them. Which is fine by Mardy, because he hasn't just hung out with Andy in forever, it seems.

Small talk is exchanged, Andy takes the extra beer and finishes it while Mardy's still on his first but Andy's always been able to hold his alcohol better, ever since they went to their first party and he held Mardy's hair from his forehead as he threw up in the toilet. He hadn't been able to look at Andy for three days, and that had been pretty hard while living in the same house. He knows his limits now, and they're much, much lower than the man sitting across from him.

It's Andy who buys the next round and then it's Mardy's turn, pushing his way through the crowd to order two more beers but the prickle on the back of his neck tells him there's someone watching him and he turns, though there's no one he can obviously pick up on. Shrugging it off as it being Andy, he pays and heads back to the table, beers in one hand and change in the other.

And it's fun just hanging out again, little less nervous now the alcohol is starting to settle in, but there's still the feeling of being watched. This time he spots Marat, halfway across the room, eyes on him and his cheeks heat up, not used to being watched. And then the Russian is walking closer and he knows he's not here for him; he's here for Andy and to give him that blowjob. It's the memory of his own blowjob from Marat that has him blushing, that tongue, that smile and hands in curls and he's getting hard just thinking about it. If Marat ever offers again, he knows he won't refuse. Probably wouldn't be able to.

"Hello, Andy."

Brilliant smile appears on Andy's face, promises of things to come evident and he can see how much Andy's looking forward to getting Marat on his knees.

"Ready to give me my blowjob, Safin?"

"I already gave the winner one, Andy," Marat says in that same, lazy tone he's heard before, smug smile curling on the edges of his lips and looking right at Mardy.

And if he wasn't so embarrassed he'd be laughing because the look on Andy's face is a mixture of horror and shock, his eyes flitting between Marat and himself, not quite believing what he's just heard though by the expression on his face it's probably not that hard for Andy to realise it's true. He's bright red and he knows it, not able to meet Andy's eyes, or Marat's for that matter, and really wants to just crawl into a hole and die. It would be a lot less horrifying than being here right now.

"That's not what I meant and you fucking know it."

"You said winner gets a blowjob. How was I supposed to know what you meant?"

This time he does manage to laugh, except it comes out more as a choke, desperately trying to hide it but it doesn't quite work. Andy's pissed, which always is good for amusement, but Marat trying to maintain that innocent expression is so much better, except when they stop staring at each other and both their heads turn towards Mardy. Then the blush is back.

"I'll go and get us some more drinks. Same again, Andy?" he mumbles, scrambling out of his seat before Andy even replies, heading to the safety of the bar and fortunately for him, it's busy. He makes no move to push forward, happy to wait that little bit longer if only to get away from the children bickering at the table.

When he looks back Andy's alone, finishing up the last of his beer, tapping his fingers against the side of his bottle, and it's perfectly Andy, inability to sit still even for a few moments. Marat's nowhere in sight and he wonders where the Russian went for a second, until he turns back, facing the bar and there's the press of someone heavy behind him, someone that smells of soap and vodka and as an arm snakes around his waist there's only one person it could be.

"Don't try and run, Fishie, he's just going to think we're talking," the low voice comes as Marat's hand slides up his stomach, beneath his shirt and he nods slowly, willing to do anything for more.

"Marat... what are you doing?" he almost whispers and he's not sure Marat even heard him, there's a pause before Marat speaks, just to him, murmuring in his ear.

"Seducing you," and he says it as though it's the most natural thing in the world to give that answer. Which to Marat, it might be. "Is it working?"

"Maybe," he says softly, looking anywhere but Marat because he's sure he's blushing again, in full view of the bar, being groped, except when he looks around he realises they're not in full view of anyone, mostly hidden by people who don't care about two guys groping each other and right now, he's eternally grateful to Andy that he picked this place.

"Want to come home with me, Mardy?" Kiss is dragged up his cheek, just a hint of tongue beneath it and he can't speak, not as Marat's fingers slip beneath the denim of his jeans. Whimper escapes from his lips, he can't help it and then there's a real kiss, clinging to Marat as though his life depends on it and afterwards he can't help but look over at Andy, desperately wants to see his reaction and it's exactly what he was expecting.

The wide eyes, the open mouth, the stunned expression because no one's ever wanted Mardy before, not over Andy anyway and this is Marat. Quite possibly the hottest player on tour and he wants Mardy. Or at least seems to and he's never done the casual sex thing before, has never wanted it but with Marat, it might be okay. Even if there is something lurking in the Russian that just wants to torment Andy, he still could be okay with it because a mouth that talented will get someone anything they want.

Drinks are forgotten as they kiss again, hand finding its way into curls and then he doesn't care anymore, he just wants to go home.

Not to sleep though. He's going to get fucked and he waves to Andy as he's pulled out the door, grin on Marat's face which turns into laughter as they step outside, back into the warm New York evening.


End file.
